


A Fated Reunion

by felypsa



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Lost Love, Origin Story, Reunions, Superpowers, high school sweethearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 11:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13903389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felypsa/pseuds/felypsa
Summary: Sequel to "An Arbitrary Ritual." Twelve years and two apocalyptic-scale events later, Emily's Inhuman power of telepathy is unlocked, and Pietro has joined a little team known as the Avengers. Finally, their paths are set to cross again...but so much has changed. Will their connection be the same?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like "An Arbitrary Ritual," this is set loosely in the universe of my Marvel roleplaying site, where the world was rocked by first Galactus the World-Eater and then by En Sabah Nur, Apocalypse himself. Some founding Avengers died in Galactus, as did Wanda Maximoff, who sacrificed herself to help bring about the end of the invasion. Pietro has been trying to get by without Wanda for four years. The X-Men then stepped up to take down Apocalypse, but in doing so, released a gas that Mr. Sinister had been working on that mimics the effect of Terrigen mist and forces Terrigenesis on those with Inhuman genetics.
> 
> It's a lot, and it's complicated, I know. 
> 
> But this story is about how all of that tragedy and angst force two almost-high-school-sweethearts to grow up in unpredictable ways...and about whether they will even recognize each other when they reunite.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.

The first few days of telepathy are utter hell.

You can’t live in a city as compacted as New York without getting drilled by the sheer _electricity_ of neurons firing along synapses in millions of brains all around you. There’s no rhyme or reason to the way the nerves wriggle, like persistent termites, into Emily Guerrero’s newly “enlightened” mind. It becomes impossible to know which sensations are her own and which are the invasive species.

She’s bound to the ebb and flow of stress, anxiety, euphoria, relief, arousal…and grief. The whole city is mourning the widespread loss and destruction brought by the ancient mutant calling himself Apocalypse. It’s the second time in _four years_ that the world has been dragged to its end. Some who survived the invasion of Galactus were destroyed by Apocalypse’s would-be human genocide.

There’s nothing quite as powerful or as volatile as one human mind in the throes of grief, let alone millions of them.

Maybe she’s not even human anymore, because she can feel the animals too, their simple brains in confused panic on top of their usual cycle of _hunt kill feed breed run rest._

Sometimes, when she opens her eyes, she sees a pigeon’s nest precariously wedged in the corner of a window of a tall brick building, or the slimy inside of a dumpster full of possibilities, or a telephone wire lined with her flock as they rest.

She reminds herself that none of these sensations are hers. At least, she thinks they aren’t…but maybe they are by now. Maybe she _is_ the termite hive.

She stays in her home for days. She stays near the frozen statue of her brother, and she slowly notices that his brain activity is muted. Not gone but…quiet. Peaceful. It works gradually, like bug spray, clearing out all the other invaders until Emily finally, finally remembers who she is. She latches onto that identity, that truth, for dear life.

And slowly, reality—and memory—trickles back in.

She remembers the smoke…no, the _fog_ spreading from the pyramid in Times Square. She remembers standing on a rooftop several blocks away, using binoculars to witness the final battle of the X-Men against the Horseman of Death and his army of undead creeps. She thought she was far enough to be safe. 

She didn’t expect the pyramid to explode like that. She didn’t expect the fog rush over her, trapping her in a sticky cocoon. She didn’t expect to find herself unable to see or breathe or think.

Until she broke free, and then she was thinking _too much._

\--------------------

She is glued to the TV, watching the world celebrate the death of Apocalypse. The world is saved, and it is too delighted to care about the strange gas that rushed over every major city around the world and left people in cocoons that would change them forever.

Just as Emily has been changed forever.

She has a superpower now…and maybe her brother will too, once he wakes up. If he wakes up.

His brain remains quiet. But at least it has not gone completely silent yet.

\--------------------

She’s lucky that their apartment building was spared the worst of the collateral damage. News reports pour in on the extent of the destruction caused by Apocalypse’s siege and the rebellion of the X-Men and other superhumans. There’s so much anger and blame thrown around, especially at the X-Men. They saved the world, but it isn’t enough, since so many people believe that the world was only in danger in the first place because of them. If only the Avengers had been there instead, they said. If only the Avengers hadn’t disbanded after losing so many of its members during Galactus.

Emily picks up on the feelings of other people in her building like blips of distant radio channels. They’re not quite _thoughts,_ more like bursts of neuron activity that she is learning to compartmentalize and interpret. There’s so much heavy grief, so much high stress. So much has been lost, and so little can be replaced or regrown. 

Her landlord is required to have a third-party inspection, someone sent by the insurance company, to make sure everything is working right. Emily’s forced to figure out what to do with her brother; she’s not sure how an insurance worker would react to a person who is stuck in a fog-induced hardened-mucus cocoon, but she guesses it isn’t anything good. She has to hide him, and she has to clean.

She hasn’t gone through her closet in ten years, not since she moved back in after college. She tries to stick to her task and not be distracted by nostalgia, but she finds so many nuggets of the past. So much memorabilia of her younger hopes and dreams, before they were shattered the first time the world almost ended. She simply hadn’t gotten back the reins of her life since that stupid awful alien attack took her grandfather’s life. 

She drags out a box of old clothes; she probably meant to donate them at some point once she patched up their worst holes. Maybe she can still donate them, despite not wanting to make some poor kids suffer from her awful sense of style. 

Her hand brushes against something buried under a gross old scratchy striped sweater. It’s a baseball cap, and she immediately pulls it out because in no universe has Emily ever been a baseball fan…and as far as she knew, neither was the boy who gave it to her.

The New York Yankees cap from prom.

It unlocks a flood of memories of one anguishing summer, when she foolishly treated this worn-out DJ’s hat like it was a crown. She let her stupid young heart get carried away in a wild fantasy, believing that this baseball cap was a sign that the boy who gave it to her on a whim (just like he danced with her, just like he kissed her—all just whims) would reach out to her again. 

And even when that desperate hope faded…she treasured it as proof that what happened on her senior prom night wasn’t a dream. That boy with the silver hair who moved faster than a human eye could track, who took vengeance on her high school tormentors without a second thought, who stole her breath and her first kiss all at once, wasn’t just a delusion.

He was real. His name was Pietro. And he had superpowers—just as Emily does now. 

She stares at the baseball cap…and for the first time in over a decade, she wonders where he is in the world, and whether he remembers her.

\--------------------

She has a lot more nightmares since becoming telepathic. She doesn’t know why. Maybe her brain has become overly sensitive. Maybe it’s the price to pay for the power of being psychic. 

She dreams of pulling back the covers on her brother’s bed to find nothing but a pile of dust.

She dreams of speaking to her grandfather’s ghost, trying to explain why she failed to save her brother.

She dreams of losing control of her power and causing waves of neural damage to everyone in New York. Nervous systems broken: people unable to move or feel anything. Immune systems slowed or even stopped: fatal diseases running rampant. Optic nerves snapped: a plague of blindness. 

The fear of failure has always dogged Emily’s footsteps, but never more than it does now, when there’s so much at stake, when she can ruin everything.

When she wakes up from those nightmares, she feels more alone than she ever has.

\--------------------

Emily decides to hide her brother in his bed instead of her closet, hoping she can fool the insurance inspector by pretending he’s too sick to get out from under the covers. She buries him in blankets, places the Yankees cap on top of his head, and fills a wastebasket by his bed with crumpled-up tissues.

It works fine. The inspector barely notices; an apathetic film clings to his mind as he walks around the apartment, checking things off a list. He’s done so many of these already, and at this point only wants to make his job as easy as possible. His only comment is the weak water pressure in Emily’s shower, but that has always been that way. And just as quickly as he entered her life, he leaves it, giving her a sense of short-lived relief before she realizes that she still has no idea what to do about her brother in the long term.

For now, she lets him “sleep.” It was scary enough trying to move his cocoon the one time, and now that she has, she doesn’t want to go through the trouble again. 

Maybe she will meet someone…another superhero like Pietro…who can help her figure something out.

But what would that entail? You only meet superheroes if you’re in mortal danger. They don’t always happen to show up at your prom.

She presses the heel of her palm against her forehead. Maybe she should be her own superhero. She has the power, doesn’t she? 

The thought makes herself laugh. _Emily Guerrero, superhero? More like super-dork._

But when the laughter fades away, she is already starting to plan.

\--------------------

When Emily has a specific, hard-set goal in mind, it becomes so much easier to figure out the steps to get there. 

Abstract goals like “do well in school” and “find a good job” didn’t help her; rather, they hung over her head, undefined milestones that frustrated and shamed her for being so far out of reach.

Narrow goals like “study for these tests and get these grades to maintain a 4.0 GPA” and “take these classes and learn these technical skills to get a nice safe IT job” allowed her to see a clear path from A to B.

“Become a superhero” is too abstract.

“Learn to utilize your telepathy to stop petty criminals” is much better. 

She learns to block out the white noise of other people’s neural activity. She learns as much as she can about the human brain and every function of the body that it controls. She practices “hacking” into people’s brains—not to hurt them, but to feel around and to understand what she’s feeling. She hacks into animal brains and learns how to see through their eyes and hear what they hear. She convinces a flock of pigeons to fly in the exact circular path she wants them to. She turns squirrels and sparrows into her miniature spies, searching for robberies and muggings taking place.

She doesn’t have to look far. In the confused aftermath of Apocalypse, there are so many criminals taking advantage of the cracks in the system. Emily uses her animals to fight back first. Startled muggers find themselves fighting off a flock of angry pigeons. Abusive pimps find a hissing raccoon’s teeth at their throats. Burglars flee as skunks come out of nowhere to spray them directly in the face.

And soon, she pushes herself further. Soon, Emily is donning a kerchief around her face and getting out in the streets herself. She confronts these small-scale criminals head-on, freezing them in their tracks, putting them to sleep, temporarily blinding them to take them out. She leaves her targets for the cops to find later. 

It’s a dangerous business, and she has to fight near-paralyzing anxiety every time she gets into the fray. But the more she does it, the less she fears failure.

Along the way, she finds that she _can_ be a superhero. She can be a pretty damn good one, in fact. 

\--------------------

And ironically, that’s how she finds him.

Rather, that’s how _he_ finds _her._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Synapse meets Quicksilver.

It’s been eight months since the end of Apocalypse. Emily’s brother is still in his cocoon, and only her ability to detect his faint brain activity allows her to keep the faith.

She does not know if he can be saved.

But at least he’s not lost.

She’s back on the streets. It’s crazy how steep the learning curve is to become a costumed vigilante. She’s bitten off more than she can chew a few times, but it’s nice when her failsafe is being able to cut off her enemy’s central nervous system—even a few seconds of their paralysis is enough for her to get out of trouble. She’s grown adept at tending to her minor lacerations and bruises and sprained joints, and only had to go to the hospital for a broken arm once.

But she’s in over her head now. She saw a group of twenty-something-year-old assholes harassing a mutant couple—boy, have people really lost their heads over mutants lately—and dove in without thinking. They weren’t supposed to have _assault rifles._

She’s only managed to put one of them to sleep because they were not expecting a masked woman to rush at them out of nowhere. But it doesn’t take them long to train their gun on her instead of the couple she’s trying to save. Her heart is pounding a frantic staccato beat, and she instinctively flings her arms in an X in front of her face—as if that will do anything to protect her from a hail of bullets. She reaches out with her mind, hoping to cut off the nerves so she can make their fingers go slack, unable to pull the triggers.

Does she get them all? No. She hears the multiple _bangs._

She’s going to get shot. She might even die. 

And then—

She’s whisked to the side by some powerful force. The bullets whiz past her. She’s settled on her feet and barely manages to blink before she sees—something—something _fast_ —move back toward the heavily armed men. Another blink, and they are no longer armed. 

She hears a voice to the side shouting, “Now, Wasp!” She turns toward the voice and sees a man _with silver hair_ tossing the guns into a dumpster. He glances toward her and she sees his face.

It’s been twelve years but she’d know that face anywhere. _Pietro is here._ As if there was any doubt with the speed he’s just demonstrated.

It’s hard to look away from him, but there is still a fight going on. She turns to see a tiny little woman with wings—that’s the Wasp!—shooting powerful blasters into the men’s eyes. “You guys know that anti-mutant hate crimes are so last decade, right?” she quips as they cry out in pain. “So not only are you horrible people, your taste in bigotry is terribly blasé.”

Emily feels something _whoosh_ past her, and she stands in awe as Pietro moves in a blur to round up the would-be assaulters while they’re downed. “Believe me, Wasp,” he says, “hating mutants is _never_ truly out of style.”

It’s incredible to see them working together, but Emily has to shelve her fangirl moment and focus. One of the mutants who was targeted is injured—his leg is bleeding—so she rushes over to him and touches him on the head. “You’re going to be okay,” she says with a smile. “I’m boosting your immune system so you can heal faster and put some weight on that leg.”

He stares up at her—he’s got gills on the sides of his neck, which is the only visible mutation she can see—and nods. “Thank you,” he breathes while his partner helps him up. 

She makes sure they’ve gotten out of the alley and into a cab; her mind is making sure that she’s completing the necessary task, but her heart is back with the fight. The sparks in her brain are all her own, for once, and she feels the electricity racing down to her fingertips. 

She turns around, and _he’s_ right there in front of her.

“We’ve taken care of this,” he says with an assured grin. Oh, how perfectly it fits her memory of his air of overconfidence. “But I saw what you did. You’ve got powers too, don’t you?”

She has to admit that she’s imagined a moment like this often in the past few months. She had no idea where to begin looking for Pietro, but she’s thought about what might happen if serendipity would reintroduce them. Now that it’s happening, she hardly knows how to respond. 

Luckily, she’s not _exactly_ the same blushing schoolgirl she was when they met. She finds her tongue. “Yeah, I do. I put one to sleep and cut off sensation in their fingers. I tried to get them all before they could shoot, but…”

She trails off, distracted by his eyes. He’s so _familiar._ Does he recognize her despite her kerchief-mask? She hesitates before reaching out to scan his brain activity—

“Good thing we were already passing through,” another voice pipes up, and Emily lets go of her power as she sees Wasp fly up next to Pietro’s face. “We’re the New Avengers, by the way. Freshly re-formed by the government to protect the city from unnatural threats. Tell your friends!”

Emily stares at Pietro—he’s become an _Avenger_? There’s so much she’s missed. So much they could talk about…if he remembers her. He’s staring at her with a new kind of intensity, as if he’s just _now_ looking at her, and her heart flutters with hope. 

“What’s your name, by the way?”

It’s Wasp who’s asking; Pietro is just looking. Emily turns to her and is suddenly aware that the government doesn’t look kindly on superpowered vigilantes. If it were only Pietro here, she would trust him with her real name, the way he trusted her with his all those years ago. But to be safe…“These days, I call myself Synapse.”

“Well, Synapse,” Wasp says with a tiny bright smile, “thank you for your help. Maybe we’ll work together again!” She turns to Pietro. “Quicksilver, why don’t you get these bozos’ guns over to the nearest police station. I’ll call the cops to have them picked up.” 

“On it,” he says, snapping out of his trance. Sensing she might not see him again once he’s rushed off, Emily does something that she’s only done to her enemies to distract them: put her voice in his head. _Pietro, wait!_

He freezes.

_We’ve met before. Years ago. My name is Emily. You crashed my prom…_

She can feel the spark of his neurons as he remembers; he stands completely still and stares at her, mouth slightly agape, blue eyes wide. She hears his voice in her head. _Emily…?_

“Quicksilver?” Wasp again, her voice bright but confused. Chances are she’s never seen the speedster freeze up like this. 

He snaps back to reality, looks his teammate in the eye, and nods. “I’ll get the guns to the precinct. But I just remembered I have—an appointment that I can’t miss.” _Emily, meet me in Central Park. The southeast entrance._

Emily’s heart gives a heavy thud. _Got it._

“An appointment? What do you—” Wasp can’t finish her question before he’s gone. She makes a frustrated noise. “Might be an Avenger, but that doesn’t make him polite,” she grumbles to herself as she pulls out a comm device.

A smile tugs at Emily’s lips; it’s an easy, genuine smile, one that she hasn’t given in so long. “I’m out. Thanks for the assist, and saving my life. Go…New Avengers.” She gives a half-hearted fist pump before running off. Really, she’s lucky that Wasp is too preoccupied to turn her into the authorities too, or to give her a lecture about the dangers of vigilantism…or to ask where she’s going next. 

Emily tugs the kerchief off her mouth and takes in a gulp of fresh air. It’s a good thing it will take some time to get uptown to the park, because she’s honestly not sure she’s ready for what’s to come.

\--------------------

He’s there waiting for her because of course he is. He even had time to change out of the sleek bodysuit he was wearing in the alley—his bona fide superhero costume—and into more civilian clothing, jeans and a leather jacket for the cooler weather. Emily’s suddenly self-conscious of her low-budget vigilante getup: tight workout pants, running shoes, and a close-fitting sweatshirt. It’s not exactly the look she’d ideally have for this reunion, especially considering the cute dress she wore the only other time they’ve interacted.

The last few seconds of walking toward him are like walking through a thick cloud of lost time, and she almost forgets to breathe right up until the moment they’re standing in front of each other. 

Pietro’s eyes are warm, but his mouth is crooked and uncertain. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you again, Emily.”

Her laugh is a high-pitched, nervous mess. “I can’t believe it either, Pietro. Or should I call you Quicksilver? That codename seems a little too on the nose.”

Her stupid joke breaks some of the stiffness between them, and Pietro mock-scowls at her. “It gets the point across. Tells people what they need to know.” 

This strikes Emily as funny, for some reason. “You don’t even want your _codename_ to waste time. Of course not.”

He arches an eyebrow, but at her obvious amusement, offers an easy grin. “Of course not,” he echoes. “Meanwhile, yours is technical. Intellectual. Not everyone knows right off the bat what a ‘synapse’ is.”

“‘Intellectual,’” she repeats, grinning back. “You can say ‘nerdy,’ you know. I won’t be offended.”

“Your word, not mine.” 

They start walking side-by-side through the park, and there’s so much to catch up on. The wall between them is made of a thousand questions, but they chip away at it piece by piece. Emily explains briefly that she turned out to be one of the so-called “Inhumans” whose powers were unlocked by the strange mist from Apocalypse’s pyramids. Pietro tells her that he was picked to be on the new team of Avengers after the “right” people noticed his earnest rescue efforts during both Galactus and Apocalypse crises. They swap lighthearted stories about their adventures fighting crime, though Emily is quick to point out how much more glamorous and dangerous Pietro’s are. He responds to her flattery with a shrug and embarrassed laugh. 

The sky is dimming by the time they take a break to sit on a bench. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

“I could eat.”

In a minute, he’s gone and back with hot, belly-filling street food. Emily’s smile widens. “It’s no plate of bruschetta, but it’ll do,” she jokes, referring back to the fancy hors d’oeuvres they devoured on prom night, before taking an unapologetically large bite of a ketchup-slathered hot dog.

He’s already eaten an entire sausage by the time she swallows, and before she can say anything else, he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is filled with such _feeling_ that Emily can practically feel the weight of it drop into her stomach. “I’m sorry I never called or texted or…anything. My father…” He stops, sighs, shakes his head. “My father wanted us to be the future of mutantkind, and at the time, I thought all I wanted was to follow in his footsteps. His violent, ruthless footsteps. You were human. He wouldn’t have accepted you, so I thought…I thought I had to toss you out too.” He’s not looking at her, instead focusing on downing a second and third hot dog. 

It’s a lot to take in, and Emily knows that later she will have to sit with the confession and how it recontextualizes that part of her life, but for the moment, all she knows is that Pietro isn’t lying. She knows that even without her telepathy confirming it. “It’s…well, I won’t say it was all right. It actually sucked. A whole lot. But everyone goes through heartbreak at some point, and I survived it, like so many people do.” She keeps her attention on him, even though he continues to avert his gaze. “It doesn’t sound like it was really your fault. I mean…it’s nice to know it’s not because you thought I was boring.” 

She’s not expecting him to take hold of her free hand so tenderly, or to see the intensity of those blue eyes resting on hers. And she’s certainly not expecting the earnest affection in his voice as he says, “You were _never_ boring, Emily.” He goes on, speaking over the thudding of her heart, “I was young, foolish, and confused about what I truly wanted. The only comfort I have about my behavior is the relief of knowing that I never dragged you into my world. It wouldn’t have been fair to you.”

He’s still not lying, and she decides she can stop automatically checking the sparks in his brain to make sure.

She squeezes his hand. “I turned out okay, Pietro. I survived. You don’t have beat yourself up over it. It was a part of growing up for both of us, it sounds like. Just because it was painful doesn’t mean it shouldn’t have happened.” She dares to smile. “I’m just glad to find you again. I could really use someone like you in my life these days.” 

He stares at her again, and she resists the urge to guess what he might be thinking. She can’t cheat all the time. “Someone like me,” he repeats. “What does that mean, Emily?”

She should have known Pietro wouldn’t let her beat around the bush. Emily laughs quietly and withdraws her hand, turning to face the quickly changing sky. “I’ve been alone for a long time, with a problem I don’t know how to solve,” she says. “I could use your insight for a possible solution, but mostly I could use…your compassion.” She glances at him. “At prom, you didn’t hesitate before helping me out, even though I didn’t ask, even though you barely knew me. I know you still barely know me, but this time I have to ask, because I’m not sure who else would understand.”

He moves closer to her on the bench and reaches out to push a strand of hair out of her face. She tries not to let the intimate gesture rattle her, but she’s not kidding herself. There’s _something_ there, after all these years. “What is it, Emily?” he says quietly. “Of course you can ask.” 

She takes a deep breath, and with one last self-conscious smile, tells him about her brother. And time slips away as Pietro sits still, staying near to her, and listens.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro and Emily finally have time to actually get to know each other.

Over the years, that prom night would visit Pietro in his dreams. It was always a little different than how he actually remembered it when he was awake and sober, but such were the surreal and patchwork nature of dreams. Sometimes Wanda was there; sometimes his father; sometimes members of the Brotherhood (he wishes he could forget the one where Toad was wearing a bright pink princess gown). Sometimes there was dancing; sometimes there was fighting; sometimes he was just running around the room, confused and lost.

Always, though, Emily was there.

His subconscious wouldn’t let him forget her, even if she was far from his current concerns when he was awake. He thought it was just an old, undying guilt that would never be resolved. He had much to feel guilty about during his young hot-headed years under Magneto’s banner, but that one stung deepest because it was _his_ secret, _his_ singular mistake, _his_ decision that broke an innocent girl’s heart. 

But if it were only guilt, then the dreams would have gone away after that incredible day in Central Park when he reconnected with Emily, and she forgave him. Forgave him and trusted him with her most precious secret, her most torturous struggle: the state of her frozen brother’s life. 

She couldn’t have known how listening to her agonize over whether she could save her brother would reach deep, deep down into his gut and tear open the scarred-over wounds he still bore from losing Wanda. His heart bled anew as he did his best to comfort her, knowing that there is no comfort to be found in the prospect of watching your sibling die and knowing there is nothing you can do about it. 

He would have given his life to save Wanda from the sacrifice she made. But his life was not enough. He was only just starting to feel like there was any worth in it at all.

In that moment, on that bench on Central Park, he silently pledged that if there was anything he could do to spare Emily even an ounce of the pain he already suffered, he would do it without hesitation. 

And so it was the first time that Pietro felt grateful for the benefits of being a card-carrying Avenger. He reached out to his connections, explaining the situation, using whatever clout he’s earned to persuade _someone_ to interfere. And it worked. Incredibly, Tony Stark and Reed Richards arranged the transportation of Emily’s brother to Reed’s lab, where the best scientists in the world could study his condition and find a solution for why he had yet to emerge from his cocoon. He was in the best hands the city could offer, and Emily thanked them all, moved to tears as a great weight was lifted from her shoulders.

Pietro now has no more reason to feel guilt. Emily was right when she said she survived her heartbreak and grew up. She’s extremely well-adjusted for a woman who woke up one day with telepathic powers—though from what little Pietro knows about her, he can’t be too surprised that Emily’s clever brain would have taken so well to that particular superpower.

But the dreams continue. And they continue with more persistent frequency. 

Now adult Emily replaces the teenage version that his subconscious mind once kept perfectly preserved. Now the setting of the prom no longer feels tinged with the colored haze of nostalgia. Now they dance and flirt and kiss, and sometimes embarrassingly, more than kiss. Now they’re grown up, and the gauzy fantasy is growing up with them. 

He no longer feels the sting of guilt when he wakes from those dreams. He has nothing left to atone for. But now the emotion is more like…regret, or at least yearning for the lost what-could-have-been. Now he wishes that he could have seen the ways in which Emily grew up. Now he wishes they had more than just one night of teenage mischief and hormones to look back on.

Now he knows why he never forgot her.

Now he knows he never will.

\--------------------

He’s vouched for Synapse to join the Avengers, and they’ve agreed that she might be a viable candidate if she can pass some of their tests. She’s understandably nervous about it; she’s had her power for less than a year, and she’s only been used to battling low-rate muggers and thugs, some of whom are just as scared of fighting as she is. Pietro promised to train with her, and she’s opened up to the suggestion like a flower to the sun.

She admits that he was the first person she thought of when she got her powers, and the confession makes his heart do a series of cartwheels. 

Selfish reasons aside, he is genuinely invested in these training sessions because he believes that she can be amazing. She has already shown an impressive command over her ability in a couple of demonstrations, and he knows she’s destined for greatness. He can’t help her with the specific questions about her telepathy, but he presents her with real-life scenarios that she might have to face as an Avenger and works on her reaction time, running simulation after simulation. It’s a grind, and she gets frustrated with herself when she doesn’t get things right away, but she persists, and he’s always happy to reassure her that she’s on the right path.

The days and weeks pass, and he finds himself looking forward to the training sessions more than anything else on his schedule. The rest of his responsibilities become almost like chores that he impatiently sifts through, just waiting for the slow march of time to catch up with him so he can work with Emily again. Some of his teammates, like Wasp and Rogue, notice his extra irritability and call him on it, but he shrugs it off. 

Emily’s test day arrives. Knowing she is bound to be a nervous wreck, Pietro practically paces a hole in his floor as he waits to see if she will call him. She might not. She’s said before that while she’s grateful for all his help, she feels bad for taking up so much of his time (he laughed at this, and she corrected herself to say “energy” instead) and—most of all—wants to prove she can do this on her own. He was quick to reassure her that it’s no trouble at all, but he understands. 

Janet comes by to drag him on a quick mission; a bank robbery in progress, and the criminals have made off with an armored truck. He’s not sure if it’s really pressing enough to warrant their interference, or if she’s simply fed up with his anxiety and wants to distract him. He goes with her, regardless.

It’s an easy cleanup; the cops are already hot on the truck’s heels, and all it takes is Quicksilver pulling the criminal out of the driver’s seat and Wasp swapping in to slam on the brakes, and they’re able to assist in the robbers’ arrest with minimal collateral damage.

Pietro is pushing one of the more feisty robbers into the back of a cop car when he and Jan get the alert on their comms at the same time. It’s an announcement from Stark: “Welcome to the Newest New Avenger, Emily Guerrero, aka Synapse!” 

One second later, Pietro gets his first official comm message from Emily: “Hi! I did okay!”

He takes off running, leaving Jan in the dust, and is back at the mansion in seconds. Emily is walking beside Tony, a spring in her step while she chats with him, and Pietro grins as he swoops her off her feet, spinning her around and giving her a tight hug. She’s startled at first but laughs brightly, flinging her arms around his neck. 

“Congratulations!” he says, holding her close. “I knew you could do it.”

He can feel her giggling against him. “Thank you, Pietro. I know you knew I could. I had to know if _I_ knew I could.” She pulls back and looks up at him with a smile. “And now I do.”

He holds his breath. Were it not for Stark looking on, he might finally give in, close the gap between their lips, and taste their first kiss as adults. But Tony knows how to ruin a good moment. “Yes, and now you get to meet the whole team,” he says. “There’s a couple of members who haven’t been properly introduced yet. We already _know_ you get along with Quicksilver…” He gives Emily a slight tug on her arm, which is enough to make her release Pietro. “And remember, you two are on the same team now. You have to be careful about how close you get.” He looks mostly at Pietro with a single raised eyebrow.

Emily blushes, but Pietro holds Tony’s gaze defiantly. “Sage advice from Mr. Caution himself.”

Tony sighs. “Sarcastic name-calling. How original.” He shakes his head and looks toward the woman of the hour. “Come on, Emily. You and Pietro can catch up later.” 

Now he’s the one left in the dust, his arms crossed as he watches them walk away. But Emily gives him one last look over her shoulder, and she is smiling at him, _for_ him.

It’s just enough of a boon to give him a little more patience until he can see her again.

\--------------------

He gets his chance later that night.

He gets a text from Emily— _I have to pack up my things to move into the mansion! Could use the help?_ —and dashes to the nearest liquor store. He agitatedly waits in line with the bottle of champagne, and once it’s paid for, he can’t get out of there soon enough. It’s not long before Emily’s buzzing him up to her place, and he breezes in through the door, heads to the kitchen, and fills two glasses with the celebratory drink. 

He hands one off to Emily while she’s still on her way to the door. She looks at the glass suddenly in her hand and laughs. “You got me again. I was wondering why you were taking _so_ long.”

He snorts. “There were some extremely slow and stupid people in front of me at the liquor store. Why do people even bother paying in cash anymore? It takes forever for the customer to get it out of their wallet, the cashier to hand over the change, and then the customer to put it all back in their wallet while they juggle their items and receipt.”

Emily’s smiling _that_ smile she gets when she thinks he’s being cute, the smile takes the edge off of his actual annoyance. “I’m honored you suffered through that just so we could share a toast. You didn’t have to, Pietro.”

He chuckles as he moves closer, lifting his glass toward hers. “Yes, I did. Today’s a day to celebrate, Emily. You should be proud.”

Her smile widens. “I am. And I’m grateful. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I’ll take the sentiment, but you’ve done plenty without me.” He smiles. “So here’s to you, Synapse, and all the wonderful days ahead of you as an Avenger.”

Her eyes shine as they clink glasses and take a sip of the bubbly liquid. “I can hardly believe it,” she says, moving away to set her glass down on the kitchen counter. “This isn’t where I saw my life going. A year ago I was just some company’s IT nerd reminding people not to make stupid passwords and telling them they have to turn their computer off and turn it on again. And now I’m putting everything I own in boxes so I can move into the _Avengers Mansion.”_

“Don’t forget the best part,” Pietro says, darting past her to put his own glass down. “We’re going to be neighbors.” 

“Oh, _that’s_ the best part?” she teases, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. “Not getting to work alongside Earth’s mightiest heroes to save the world?”

He scoffs. “Some of them will lose their shine after you get used to them, Emily. Trust me.” He watches as she opens one of the cabinets to take out some dishes. “They’re the ones who are lucky to have you. Not the other way around.” 

Emily glances back at him with a smirk. “Okay, flatterer. We’ll see about that.” She sets the dishes on the counter. “Do you want to sing my praises all night or help me pack?” 

“I can do both,” he says, but she’s right: he came here for a reason, and the sooner they get through the packing, the sooner they can…talk. There’s a lot on his mind he wants to tell her, and he’s not sure when he’ll get another opportunity. As much as he hates to admit it, Tony isn’t entirely wrong about things changing now that they were on the same team. In the life of an Avenger, it’s the Avenger part that always takes priority over everything else.

He chooses to start in her room and pack up the clothes from her closet, whisking them off their hangers, folding them in tight, neat formations, and placing them in a box. He’s not in there long when he finds himself handling a Yankees baseball cap. The sight of it makes him slow down. Emily’s never mentioned a fondness for baseball or the Yankees…

It tugs at an old dream and an even older memory. He remembers stealing a baseball cap for her half a lifetime ago to prove that he was really as fast as he told her he was. The stunt worked. Could this well-worn cap be the same from that night? Would Emily have kept it for so long—this one reminder of a stupid, reckless boy who kissed her and never saw her again? 

“Pietro, when you get a chance,” he hears Emily start to say as she walks into the room, but then she stops. 

He turns toward her, holding up the baseball hat with a half-smile. “Is this what I think it is?”

A soft blush rises to her cheeks, and she walks toward him. “It is,” she says quietly, taking it out of his hand. “I…never had the heart to throw it out. I think because…” Her eyes flicker to his, vulnerable and hopeful, “I thought I might be glad to have it one day.” 

Pietro’s heart stirs with new life. The hat is the only physical relic of their one short-lived night together. She’s kept it all these years. Just as his dreams have kept her. 

He caves. In a single heartbeat he gently cups her face with both hands and sears a kiss against her lips. Even with how fast he moves, Emily’s not caught off guard. If anything, she surges forward to meet him with equal speed, equal fervor, equal want. The electricity races between them, and the one kiss isn’t enough. None of it will be enough; they have years to make up for.

But at least they’ve finally begun.


End file.
